Crash and Burn
by Katherine Elaine
Summary: A fire. Bloodshed. Dead phone lines. A series of strange events leaves Sam questioning reality, and things that are too good to be true.


It's a Monday, and Sam Winchester opens his eyes, sitting bolt-upright with a loud gasp for air. He'd woken from such a weird dream that even the things he'd deemed impossible now seemed more than likely true. There were demons—two of them. Blondes, but then one of them was a brunette at one point, too. And Bobby Singer—Uncle Bobby. He'd been there, hiding from death itself—or maybe Death, himself. Were those real, too? The Four Horsemen of the—had Dean really brought it on?

Bloodshed, lots of it. Sam rolls up his sleeve and looks for strange markings; scars, cuts, bruises; anything that might give him some kind of hint, trigger some memory. The action produces no results, though, and the younger Winchester brother frowns with further confusion. He reaches under his pillow to unplug his phone from its wall-charger, and finds the same phone he had back in the year 2005. Trickster. It must be the Trickster, right? A Djinn, maybe?

But that's when the phone rings, sitting in his hand, and as an unknown number pops up on the backlit screen, Sam hesitates before answering. Unfortunately, the call ends just before he can pick up, and he decides not to call back. Instead, Sam dials Dean. Dean will know what to do. He'll have an idea—wait, where was Dean? Sam could have sworn he'd fallen asleep in the bed three feet away from his brother's in the run-down motel room in southern Ohio. They'd been hunting. A rougarou, as he recalls, to be exact.

_This is Dean's other, other, other phone. Leave a message. If it's an emergency, phone my brother, Sam._

Sam mouths along with the recording. "Thanks, Dean," he mutters, hanging up before he can leave his message as instructed. He tries another number, which apparently now belongs to a very angry Angelica Barnes, who doesn't appreciate his so-called prank calls at four in the morning. The final number he tries only says that it's unavailable, that the number isn't in use by anyone. Suspicious, indeed.

He huffs, puzzled, and turns back over. Only then does Sam notice his surroundings; a small apartment, dark and kept tidy with the exception of clothes slung all over the room. Women's panties, tight jeans, red high heels—none, of course, are Sam's, and he's left to conclude that he'd had a rather drunken one-night stand and now possibly has a child on the way. As for the woman, she's nowhere in sight. Must've been into the roleplaying thing, though; there were a few skimpy costumes laid out across the floor in the corner. He turns back over, staring at the ceiling tiles, and—wait.

Sam knows this ceiling. He'd dreamt about it, not just earlier than night, but so many times before. More than that, it was proof that something was up. This ceiling… He could still picture it. Blonde locks of hair spiraling down over thin, pale shoulders. The blood dripping from above. Flames, scorching the body pinned to it, but no traces of the damage were even visible.

How? How was it that he's here, that this building is here? He'd watched it burn. They'd left that night. He'd dreamt about it days before it had happened, and Sam spent what felt like an eternity blaming himself for—

That's when it happens, all the proof he needs. A quiet tap on the door lets him know he's not alone. Sam flinches before reaching for the handgun under the pillow, hand on the trigger, and ready to aim. The door creaks open and Sam can't believe his eyes.

Jessica stands, beautiful as ever, in his room—their room—and smiles worriedly. "Heard you moving around. Thought I heard your phone, too," she starts, but before she can finish, Sam's released the weapon and flies out of bed to grab her, holding her tight to him. "Uh, Sam?" Jessica asks in a small voice. "Can't… breathe…"

Sam loosens his grasp, if only slightly, afraid that she'll disappear if he lets go. "Jess," he breathes. "How—"

"I had this weird dream," Jessica interrupts. "You left with your brother in the middle of the night, looking for your dad. I was so worried! I mean, I calmed down a little, once I saw a cookie missing from the kitchen, but still. I just… I had to know you were okay."

The hunter swallows, glancing down to the floor and sitting back on the edge of his bed, pulling Jessica's hand. She takes a seat next to him. "Yeah, weird dream." _It's not real_, he tells himself, knowing the exact opposite was the truth.

"Still, I'm glad you're here. I woke up scared that you weren't gonna make it in time for the interview."

"Interview?"

"Yeah, um, for law school. Today."

"Law school," Sam repeats, unconvinced.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"Fine," he answers, only a half-truth. It was Monday. Sam had a law school interview. Jessica was alive. The apartment was in tact. But that dream… so vivid… "Better than fine. You're here. That's all I need." It's the truest thing Sam's said in, well, years, probably. "God, Jess, I just… what would I do without you?"

Jessica kisses his cheek, sidling closer to him and twines her fingers between his, and only then does Sam know everything's alright, everything's exactly how it should be. The blonde forms a smile, looking up at Sam knowingly. "Crash and burn."


End file.
